


For Love, Not Hate

by Arhtea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 12:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16197956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arhtea/pseuds/Arhtea
Summary: For a moment he found himself unable to speak. In front of him stood a tall woman in the mask of a white swan with a matching dress covered in white feathers. Her soft brown eyes were warm and deep. Long dark hair was carefully pinned up in an intricate style, a single loose lock hanging against her neck.





	For Love, Not Hate

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Lord Voldemort is the head of an organized crime family in the Wizarding World. Hence no final battle and alternative careers for characters. Also no real blood prejudice exists, so the characters have been adjusted accordingly.

The air was thick with the smell of perfumes and spices, making it hard to breathe. Draco Malfoy folded his arms and looked down at the ballroom from his balcony perch. His parents had spared no expense. The room was decorated in velvets and silks, jewels and feathers; it had been transformed into a magical forest complete with a night sky of a thousand bright stars. Countless guests were moving around the dance floor, consumed by the music, or enjoying numerous delicacies laid out for them by house elves, who were invisibly slipping in and out, catering to every whim. Taken by the anonymity the masks offered, the usually so prim and proper purebloods were suddenly losing their inhibitions and growing bold.

Draco surveyed the mass of tangled limbs on the dance floor—ladies and gentlemen getting far too familiar with one another. The Malfoys’ annual Midsummer Ball was a single night where a thousand scandals and sordid affairs were carried out yet no one had to pay the price because no one ever learned of them. So many rumors would be forged and yet they’d die in this very room, for the anonymity of one protected the anonymity of all. In theory, a mask could be torn off but then all masks would fall and what would follow, no one dared find out.

Yet even here, at this celebration of all things taboo in the high society, Draco found himself bored out of his mind as he leaned over the banister. There was a dullness about them. Perhaps it was just a case of sour grapes as his engagement with Pansy Parkinson had been broken up by her father just weeks ago. It was a purely political move and even though Draco had no romantic feelings for Pansy, he’d grown up with the certainty that she’d one day be his wife. To lose that certainty was unexpectedly painful.

With a huff, he fixed his mask of black feathers and turned to walk away but found himself face to face with someone. The figure swayed on their legs and Draco grabbed their hand without thinking, to steady them. When he raised his head, a pair of brown eyes met grey.

For a moment he found himself unable to speak. In front of him stood a tall woman in the mask of a white swan with a matching dress covered in white feathers. Her soft brown eyes were warm and deep. Long dark hair was carefully pinned up in an intricate style, a single loose lock hanging against her neck.

Draco took a step forward without thinking and saw cherry red lips curve into a smile. Remembering his manners, he leaned down to almost brush his lips against the white lace glove before letting it fall from his grasp. He wanted to say something to the beautiful illusion before it floated away, but he found that all words had died in his throat. He gave the woman one more look before brushing past her and heading down the stairs.

The lack of oxygen was making him dizzy so he decided to cut through the people waiting for the next song to begin and step into the garden. He made it halfway there before someone grabbed his hand. Draco turned and saw his angel. Wordlessly, she held out her other hand. As if on cue, the band started playing again, this time a slow waltz. The woman guided Draco’s hand to her waist and pulled him closer and then they were moving in a steady rhythm. As they twirled he slowly felt his courage return. His feet already knew the way but he adjusted his hands and allowed her to lean closer.  Her scent was exhilarating.

As the song ended, he almost thought she’d vanish like a dream, but she merely seemed to hesitate, as if asking whether he wanted to change partners. Draco shook his head and the woman smiled. Then they were moving again, lost in the wildness of a tango. He held her tighter this time, his fingers caressing her back. It somehow felt even warmer in the room. The dance floor almost seemed to spin around him as he saw her in his arms, lost in the music. All he could see was her face covered in the mask. The eyes like jewels, the red lips. He heard the music draw to a close and without thinking, he pulled her forward into a kiss. She tasted of summer.

When he thought back to it, he couldn’t even recall what had happened. He remembered the kiss and the heat. He remembered the marble staircase and the green silk sheets. He remembered fumbling with the laces of her white dress and then pushing it off her shoulders. The feel of her bare skin under his hands.

The illusion shattered when she was gone the next morning, like every other affair of the Midsummer Ball. The only thing left behind was a bouquet of white heathers in her place on the bed.

* * *

 

_Hermione Granger. Friday, 11 pm. 17 Horizont Alley, apartment 15. Payment on completion._

Draco pulled the black card out of his pocket and examined it for the last time before vanishing it. Hermione Granger was one of the high accusers of the Wizengamot and given the amount of attention that recent convictions of the Lord Voldemort syndicate had gathered, it was bound to happen. The head of the organization himself had expressed his desire that someone rid him of the meddlesome bitch. Personally, Draco thought she was rather brave to stand up against him when the last high accuser, Remus Lupin, had disappeared without a single trace. The rumor was that he had been paid off but Draco knew better. His body lay in a shallow grave in the Dark Forest. It seemed that Granger would soon find out that truth.

He looked up at the nondescript grey building and adjusted his invisibility cloak. He had already taken Polyjuice but he was still nervous about being discovered. He wiped his sweaty hands against his robes before reaching into his pocket to feel the familiar smoothness of his wand. It was now or never. Granger had entered the building an hour ago. Ten minutes ago the light in her bedroom window had died. A short surveillance had told Draco that the woman was quick to fall asleep.

Finally, he swallowed hard, trying to rid his throat of the uncomfortable lump that had appeared there, and cast an _Alohomora_ on the door to the building. The loud creak as he pushed it open made him jump. His heart was beating like crazy and for a moment he thought about turning back. Except that wasn’t an option. _He_ had gone to Lord Voldemort. _He_ had begged for a job. If he turned back now… it wouldn’t be good for his health.

At her apartment door, he took a breath and slowly counted to ten before getting to work. As his godfather had taught him, he checked the door for traps or surprises and found several. It didn’t surprise him. As the top of their class at Hogwarts, the know-it-all knew well enough how unreliable a simple lock was when the spell to undo it was so well known. Draco had to work for several minutes to remove the wards and traps. The hard part was doing it so that none of them would set off any alarms. Several times he had to pause and wait, his heart pounding in his chest and sweat trickling down his brow, but ultimately he found a way around and each and every spell without alerting Granger. Silently, he thanked his father for demanding he keep up with his studies and, more recently, ordering him to read some of the older Malfoy family books. Lucius Malfoy hadn’t raised a perfect son but he had been determined not to raise a lazy fool.

Finally Draco felt confident enough to cast the final _Alohomora_ and push the door open. It was a small apartment but he was unsurprised that most of it was quintessentially what he knew of Granger from Hogwarts. The living room was one big shrine to books, with shelves covering every wall and all of them stuffed so full that Draco wondered if it was even possible to extract a volume. On the table he saw case files, documents spilled all over the place, things underlined or covered with notes in neat and very small handwriting. He saw the faces of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, Lord Voldemort’s two trusted lieutenants that Granger was prosecuting, and was reminded of his task.

The bedroom door was ajar. Draco pulled his wand out of his pocket and pushed the door open, then stopped dead in his tracks. She was sprawled out on the bed in a long white nightgown, the blanket pushed to one side. Her hair was spread out in clumps around her head. She was smiling in her sleep, lost in a peaceful dream. But most importantly, the witch before Draco was noticeably pregnant.

The wand shook between his fingers. That had not been in the file he’d received about the target. He hadn’t noticed when he surveilled her either. She wasn’t very far along. Her typical black robes had obscured it. Or maybe Draco hadn’t been too perceptive. He lowered his wand and took a step back. A draft from the open window drew the door in and it hit him with a dull thud.

The witch was up from the bed in a flash, her hand already going for her wand. Draco raised his but couldn’t bring himself to curse her. She couldn’t find her wand so she settled for a pillow which she threw at Draco. Then a book from under the pillow. Draco raised his hands to protect his face while pulling the invisibility cloak tighter. He stumbled backwards and scrambled to get out of there.

 _“STUPEFY!”_ Evidently, she’d found her wand. He forced the door closed and ran back through the hallway.

“ _Expulso!”_ The spell missed him but hit the corner of the wardrobe in the hallway and sent clothes flying in his face. He yanked something off his eyes, raised his own wand and cast the same spell at the front door; bursting through it, he fled.

He ran through the streets, his invisibility cloak fluttering in the wind and his feet surely showing, but Draco didn’t stop until he was well away from Horizont Alley. After a moment of hesitation, he took a detour to muggle London. He shrank the invisibility cloak, stuffed it in his pocket and collapsed on a park bench. Only then did he realize he was still clutching whatever had flown into his face from the wardrobe. He looked down and saw it. A mask of white feathers.

* * *

 

There were two things very painfully clear to Draco Malfoy. One: that he could not kill Hermione Granger. Her house was probably swarming with Aurors by now and even more importantly she was pregnant, quite possibly with his child. Two: if he couldn’t kill Granger, Lord Voldemort would reduce him to a pile of blood and bone when he found out, and then send someone else to kill Granger and what was quite possibly his child. And no matter how long he pondered over it, he could not figure out what to do. He was going around in circles and it certainly didn’t help that every time he glanced down at the mask between his fingers, he recalled the scent of oranges and dark chocolate and the feel of her soft warm lips on his or her smooth skin under his hands.

One moment he had stood up to go kill her, left hand ready to discard the mask and right holding his wand. Lord Voldemort had been known to kill parents for the sins of their children. He couldn’t bear the thought of his mother at that monster’s mercy.

Seconds later he had collapsed back onto the park bench, knowing he could never follow through. Her figure, sleeping peacefully on the bed, that smile on her lips—he saw it so clearly and he knew he’d never be able to raise his wand against her.

Silently, Draco cursed the day he had asked to join Lord Voldemort. He was foolish. His engagement was broken and his white illusion had disappeared. He couldn’t even bear to throw away the flowers she had conjured for him. But he couldn’t look at them either. So when Draco saw the way his aunt believed in Lord Voldemort and the feelings of awe and loyalty he inspired… he just wanted to belong somewhere. In hindsight, he should have taken up arts or partying like other rich people with nothing to do. The Malfoys didn’t partake in such vulgar affairs as organized crime. Not as long as the risks outweighed the benefits, anyway.

But what use was that now? He had gone to Lord Voldemort despite his father’s objections. _He_ had asked for that job and that meant that _he_ was responsible. He and no one else. He wanted to throw away the mask but it seemed glued to his hand.

Finally, he stood up with determination. He tucked the mask in his pocket and walked out of the park, his feet carrying him back towards the Wizarding World. Horizont Alley, as expected, was so packed full of Aurors and other busybodies that he had to fight his way through. The Polyjuice Potion had worn off in the park and he wasn’t wearing the invisibility cloak. This Draco had to do in full view of everyone. He looked around the street, choosing his target. Dawlish was slow enough for the draw so he picked him for his grand exit. He raised his wand and yelled: “ _Expulso_!”  The spell missed by an inch. Dawlish fumbled trying to reach for his wand. Moody spun around at the door and cast his own spell. Draco felt a sharp pain. He stumbled back to get to a place with fewer people. Another _Stupefy_ missed him. He pointed at the ground and wordlessly cast the spell.

When the smoke cleared, he was gone, leaving behind an ear and a substantial amount of blood. It wouldn’t be enough to prove his death after Pettigrew had done his trick with the finger; because of that they had upped their legal standards quite heavily. The body which was found the next morning, however, missing an ear and covered in blood, was convincing enough. Draco Malfoy’s corpse was laid to rest in his family crypt and his short-lived career as an assassin was forgotten.

* * *

 

A figure stepped into Hermione Granger’s bedroom, footsteps muffled by the carpet. He was dressed in black, his face hidden. He didn’t pause when he saw her on the bed. The figure raised his wand and his lips began to form the killing curse.

No words ever came out. A thin wire slipped around the man’s neck and was pulled tighter and tighter. He scrambled to breathe, tried to curse his attacker, clawed at the wire, but it was all for naught. After a while, the body went slack and the would-be killer was pulled out of the room and away into the darkness.

When Hermione woke up, she appeared to know nothing of what had passed. Nothing about the killer in the night or the one who had come a week prior. Not even the one who had visited her a month ago. She went to work oblivious and unconcerned.

When she left, Draco Malfoy emerged from his hiding place in the apartment and quietly disposed of the assassin’s body. He had been right. After his supposed death, or as he called it, the enrichment of a certain forensic wizard now ready to swear in any court that it was Draco’s body they’d found and buried, Lord Voldemort had sent others. Turned out Draco was better at killing when he was doing it for love, not hate. So far, none of the assassins had lived to see the light of another day after they chose to enter Hermione’s apartment.

It had been tricky to break through Granger’s spells so that she would not notice an extra guest in her apartment. Draco had had to sneak into his family home to check the old family tomes on warding magic, as well as endure a lecture from his father on faking his death and worrying his mother so very much, but he had gotten the information in the end. Lucius had been supportive, as he considered it a personal insult for someone to go after his grandchild. Especially a grandchild whose mother was already in some circles called the brightest witch of her age.

Passing the witch’s bedroom Draco saw the heathers in the vase next to her bed had wilted. With a sigh, he cast an _Orchideous_ and placed the newly conjured bouquet in their place. The flowers stood for protection. As long as they were fresh, it would mean he’d be there to protect her and his child. Though Draco did wonder why Hermione had stopped refilling their vase with water.


End file.
